


The Right Track

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: Omegaverse AU [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alpha Alfie, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Discussion of Abortion, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Tommy, Omegaverse typical sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: Tommy has some news for Alfie, but struggles to tell him. And it doesn't help that Alfie is terribly distracted and doesn't seem to have time for him right now. But Tommy tries, still.





	The Right Track

**Author's Note:**

> IT's been A WHILE again! I'm so sorry -between moving to a new apartment and holidays and Things I've just been very distracted. But here's a story! I've been absolutely dying to write some omegaverse so the request for some mpreg was very welcomed. As you can see this is just the first part of what will be it's own little AU. This is very very different from the show, because I figured that I might as well go all out, so just a heads up in advance. Tommy is the family's only omega, and as the oldest alpha of the family, Polly is in charge of the business. But this will also become more obvious in later parts. 
> 
> Alright enough of my rambling! Go ahead and read it, and I hope you'll enjoy it

The Garrison is empty. And even though Tommy quite enjoys the bustle of a Friday evening when it’s full to the brim, this is a welcome respite. Especially considering the circumstances. One of the perks with working at the pub (besides the obvious fact that it’s the only real job related to the family business anyone will let him come within a ten mile radius of) is that there’s at least one place in the world that he’s got some kind of control over.

Today he’s exerted that control by flipping the sign to ‘closed’ and locking the door.

”You have to tell him at some point, you know.” Ada looks up from her whiskey. The second one she’s poured herself since he told her the news.

Tommy stirs his tea with a straw that he’s fished out from a box behind the bar, just to have something to occupy his hands with.

“I know. I’m just… trying to find the right moment.”

“He’ll notice on his own sooner or later, otherwise,” Ada points out. “He’s not the clueless kind of alpha.”

“I _know.”_

“And how are you going to explain it when you spend every morning hunched over the toilet when the morning sickness hits? There’s only so many times he’ll buy a hangover excuse-“

“Ada.”

She throws her hands up in defeat, but the wrinkle between her eyebrows remain as she gives him a thoughtful look.

“Are you thinking of getting rid of it?”

“No!” Tommy exclaims and his hand shoots up to cover his belly before he can even understand what is happening. He quickly drops it back onto his lap and tries to will down the heat rising to his cheeks.

“It’s your body, Tommy, and if you feel that you’re not ready, no one can tell you what to do with it,” Ada says, sounding like a politician who’s about to give a well- practiced speech “There’s nothing wrong-“

“Ada, please, not now,” Tommy says and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Save it for those fucking rallies.”

Ada harrumphs loudly.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to participate in those _fucking rallies_ , it’s about _your_ rights.

Tommy snorts. “Well then it’s also my _right_ not to go and watch you ramble about shit you have no actual experience with. Stick to riling up the other alphas down in the factories.”

“Gender and class is linked. And me being an alpha doesn’t mean that I can’t-“ 

Tommy waves his hand dismissively, humming around the edge of his teacup in an attempt to stop this before it becomes a lecture. Any other day Ada would’ve been hurt, but he seems to get a free pass today due to the circumstances, so she just pushes herself off the bar disk to pace in front of it while Tommy buys himself some time and finishes his tea.

Once the cup is empty, he stares down at the tealeaves.

“I do want the baby,” he says after a long silence. “And I’m _going_ to tell Alfie. It’s just that I-“

He cuts himself off because he can’t bring himself to say that last part –‘I want it to be special’. Because it sounds so stupid. Like he’s some wide eyed little thing who’s at home hanging fucking lacy curtains in the kitchen window, baking and waiting for their spouse to come home. But truth is he wants it to be special. He wanted to tell Alfie the second he suspected he might be pregnant. But then he waited, just to make sure. And once he was utterly sure -after a long conversation with Grace on the matter that he’d rather forget- it felt strange to simply… go home and tell Alfie. And the longer he’s waited, the more doubts have begun appearing, sinking their claws into his head and refusing to let go. What if Alfie doesn’t want a baby, when it really comes down to it? It’s so easy to just _talk_ : Paint a pretty picture of what it’d be like, having a baby, start a family all of their own. ‘ _Maybe they’d have your eyes love? Imagine that!’_

It's easy to talk. Now it’s suddenly reality.

Then he feels guilty.

This is Alfie. His Alfie. Tommy should have more faith in him. And Alfie was the one who brought up the idea of children in the first place, so why on earth wouldn’t he be thrilled about it? Logically, Tommy knows all this. He only needs to get all the anxious thoughts to listen.

“I’ll tell him,” he says to Ada, realising he’s been quiet for far too long. He fidgets with the edge of the straw. “Tonight.” 

Ada’s scent, sage and leather-bound books, surrounds him. Then there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so happy for you, Tom. For both of you.”

She’s smiling. He can tell, even though he’s staring down at the bark disk. And he feels right then, that he’s happy too. A bubbling, sparkling kind of happiness that manages to drown out all the worry.

….

Turns out that once he’s made up his mind, he can’t possibly wait until tonight. So he goes to the brewery down by the docks to search out Alfie in his office, with renewed courage and a new lightness in his chest. Alfie will be happy. Thrilled, even.

“Afternoon, Thomas,” Eli greets him by the entrance with a smile and a polite nod. “The boss is in his office. Can you find the way yourself or do you want someone to accompany you?”

Tommy only rewards the question with a raised eyebrow, so Eli shrugs, continuing to smile politely and gestures for him to enter.

He ignores the curious stares from the various alphas milling about in the brewery, and quickly makes is way on towards the center of the building. He opens the door without knocking.

Alfie is sitting by his desk, hunched over a pile of papers and his heart, as always, skips a beat. He glances up when Tommy enters.

“You know I don’t like it when you wander around here on your own,” he grunts. “We’ve been over that. Not safe enough, these parts. Not yet, at least.”

Any other day, Tommy would simply roll his eyes at this. But now his stomach just clenches with worry. Alfie flips through a pile of papers. And Tommy finds himself just standing there, full of a strange new uncertainty. But then Alfie glances up and smiles a little.

“Sorry, sweetheart, that’s no way to greet the love of one’s life now, is it?” He gets up from his chair with some difficulty and beckons Tommy closer with a wave. “As well as husband and cherished mate. Go on, come here and give us a kiss.”

Tommy walks up to him, calmed by his mate’s scent the second it envelops him and allows Alfie to pull him in for a chaste kiss. Tea, pine needles and freshly baked bread. Home. Alfie lets go quicker than he would’ve liked and seats himself behind the desk again.

“So, any particular reason I’m blessed with your fair visage, or did you just miss me?” he asks, turning his attention back to the documents. 

Tommy tries to gather back his resolve. But something just feels… wrong now.

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, feeling stupid the second he utters the words. Alfie only hums in acknowledgement, forehead creased and eyes fastened on the numbers in front of him. Tommy decides that it’s better to just have it over and done with, to hell with the consequences, takes a deep breath and-

And that’s when Alfie’s phone rings.

He answers and gestures for Tommy to sit in the leather armchair by the bookshelf, his usual spot when spending time in Alfie’s office. Tommy doesn’t sit, instead he walks over to the window and looks out at the docks, trying to focus all his attention on what is happening outside. One of the barges have just docked, and large crates are being hauled from the deck, up onto land. A woman on a black horse rides past, and the horse shies away when a crate lands heavily on the cobbled street. Tommy watches the animal with undivided interest and tires to focus on that instead of his thundering heart.

Behind him, Alfie is speaking rapidly to someone in Yiddish. The horse and the woman disappears around a corner.

“Sorry, love, but I have some work to get to,” Alfie says and it takes a moment for Tommy to realise he’s speaking to him. He turns to watch Alfie rise from the desk and walk over to the hangers by the door, shrugging into his coat. He perches his hat on top of his head and grips his cane. “Shit that can’t wait, apparently. And the quicker I get to it, the quicker I can pay undivided attention to you.”

“Alright,” Tommy says, and hates how small his voice sounds. And he fucking hates the way his throat feels all tight.

Gently ushering him out the door, Alfie starts barking orders to someone at the opposite side of the brewery as he leads Tommy towards the exit.

“So, where should we drop you off, love?” He asks as they step out onto the street and waves for the driver to pull up.

Tommy shakes his head. “I’ll walk.”

Alfie furrows his brow, looking less than pleased. He scans the docks. Squints up at the sun, still quite a bit above the horizon. “Fine. But don’t let your aunt know. She thinks I’m being sloppy with your safety already. Fuckin’ell as if you’re not a grown, fully capable adult. And on _top_ of that, I think that I’m in fact _very_ thorough with everything where your well-being is concerned. Offensive, is what it is-“ 

The car rolls up beside them. Alfie’s two employees wait for him to get in and he gives Tommy a final, questioning look. Tommy shakes his head again. 

“Fine. I’ll see you tonight, pet,” Alfie says and kisses his cheek, but his eyes are drifting. “I should be home in time for dinner. I’ll make you something nice, alright? To make up for this.”

Then he climbs into the front seat of the car, the two men get in the back, and soon, Tommy is alone on the street outside the brewery. All the bubbling happiness from before has died down to a small pitiful lump at the pit of his stomach.

He doesn’t go to the stables. Or the Garrison. Being around other people feels like an unbearable thought, and Grace is already covering for him. So instead he just goes home. The walk helps a little to clear his head. Alfie is just busy: things are always hectic right before a shipment, and Tommy’s got no fucking right to sulk about it. Still, it’s hard to completely rid himself of the unease. And he decides that he still needs to tell Alfie today, because the longer he’s alone with this, the louder all the anxious thoughts become.

Once he gets home, he decides that he’ll take care of the cooking, for once.

Tommy fucking hates to cook. It’s the principle of the thing: the utter unfairness that he was the only one of his siblings expected to spend time in the kitchen. Because it’s not an alphas job to cook, so why would any of them have to learn it? But that doesn’t mean that he _can’t_ cook. And since Alfie never expects him to, and gladly takes care of both that and the dishes as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Tommy doesn’t mind it so much anymore. So he cooks.

He picks carefully among Alfie’s recipes and chooses one of his favorites.

The unease does simmer down as he stands there carefully slicing carrots into even pieces. Alfie is more appreciative of the rare instances when he cooks than Tommy deserves, and the thought of making him happy loosens the knot in his stomach.

He sets the table, takes care of the dishes and wipes down all the surfaces in the kitchen until it’s spotless. Glances at the clock. Alfie should be home soon. A bit of the earlier excitement is back; He can imagine what he’ll look like when he tells him, how happy he’ll be, how his eyes will light up. Maybe he’ll give Tommy one of those adoring looks, as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. When Alfie looks at him like that, Tommy can almost believe him.

He has time to wash up before dinner, so he does that too. _Wants to smell nice for Alfie, wants to look good for him-_ While he does he practices quietly to say those words, to make sure he’s prepared. _I’m pregnant._ It feels strange and frightening but somehow wonderful all at the same time in an overwhelming cocktail. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. Runs a hand over his stomach, which is still completely flat. Tries to imagine how it’ll look, how it’ll feel once the baby is a bit bigger, but it’s difficult because it’s so utterly surreal. Still, there’s an ounce of excitement at the idea. Not that he cares looking into where the excitement comes from, but it’s definitely there.

Back in the kitchen, he tastes the soup and decides that it’s alright. Good, even. He’ll never be quite as good as Alfie at cooking, simply because he doesn’t care enough, but it’s easy, following a recipe. And he wants it to be good. To make Alfie happy. He glances at the clock on the wall.

Alfie is a little late.

Tommy wipes down the counter again, even though it’s already clean. After some thought he lights a candle on the table.

He stirs the soup and lowers the heat on the stove a little.

Then he sits down by the table and waits. Tries to not imagine all the things that could be keeping Alfie from coming home…

It’s dark outside when the worry becomes too much to handle and he calls the office. Ollie picks up. But no, nothing has happened. He’d be the first to know if the meeting had gone wrong.

“Fucking Italians, always drag these things out. But that’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be home any minute now.”

Tommy hangs up and returns to the table.

He fidgets with a napkin, pulling at the threads. Tries to avoid looking at the clock.

When the darkness outside has turned from dusky gray to pitch black and Alfie still hasn’t come home, he quietly blows out what is left of the candle, puts the dishes back in their cupboards and goes upstairs.

He undresses, carefully putting all the garments on the appropriate hangers. Puts on his nightshirt, one of Alfie’s old flannel shirts. Then he crawls into bed and curls up on his side, staring at the opposite wall, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

_This is what it’ll be like. This is what you signed up for. You’ll be here, all alone with the baby, pacing back and forth and waiting for Alfie to come home. Is this the life you wanted?_

For a long moment that seems to stretch into an eternity he thinks about how it’s not too late yet -he hasn’t told Alfie. He could still-

Keys rattle in the multiple locks on the front door.

Then, Alfie’s steps come up the stairs, and the bedroom door creaks open. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. The mattress dips behind him.

“Tommy?” Alfie’s voice is soft and his scent makes Tommy’s throat close up.

He swallows. It’s a lost battle, pretending to be asleep. Alfie always knows.

So he makes a noise, a quiet sort of hum.

“You’d made dinner.”

The tears are burning behind his closed eyelids now, and he tries to force down that lump in his throat before making another hum. Tries to sound at ease.

“I’m so sorry I was late, the meeting dragged on. I should’ve called you.”

“It’s fine.” Tommy whispers. He bites his tongue and wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. Fuck this is pathetic. There’s something so deeply humiliating about the whole thing; about putting fucking effort in, about falling into some old stereotype he swore he’d never become-

“No, no it’s not fine. Fucking unacceptable is what it is.” Alfie’s fingers scratch gently in the nape of his neck. “You’d made everything so nice. And I know you hate cooking-“ Tommy can hear the little smile in his voice. He wants to say that he doesn’t hate cooking, he’ll do it for Alfie, he’ll do anything as long as he promises not to leave. And he fucking hates that instinct.

The distress is rolling off him in waves now, seeping out of his pores and wilting the floraly scent that he’s loathed all his life. Up until the very moment he met Alfie. 

Tommy curls further into his protective ball when Alfie lies down behind him and pulls him close.

“I’m sorry,” Alfie repeats and presses a kiss in the nape of his neck.

But he can’t answer, because if he focuses on anything other than gritting his teeth together, he’ll begin to cry. As if this whole thing hasn’t been humiliating enough already.

Alfie is patient. He’s always been, when it comes to this. So he’s quiet for a long while.

“Well, the meeting couldn’t have gone worse,” he sighs, suddenly. Tommy keeps biting his tongue. “Fucking… Sabini. Absolutely impossible to have anything to do with. I’ll have a fucking Italian uproar on the rise back in London after this.”

It piques Tommy’s interest. Always does. It’s just the way his brain works -give it a few pieces and it’ll instantly begin laying a puzzle with them, whether he likes it or not. It distracts him enough for the lump to sink down a little.

“Thought Sabini refused to go to Birmingham for meetings?” he asks and manages to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“He does. Arrogant piece of shit. Sent some of his goons. The slightly less idiotic ones. Mostly to let me know that with his man in New York wanting a bigger cut, he’ll only pay _me_ fuckin half of his usual prize for the product. Un-fucking-believable. That's what I get for delivering him high quality rum...”

“You could start exporting it yourself. Cut the middle man.” He pauses, waits for an interruption that never comes, and then adds: “Vincent Changretta’s got a son in New York who imports liquor.”

“He does?”

Tommy hums. “Luca Changretta. His father likes me. I could probably get you in contact with him.”

He pictures Vicente Changretta, seated by the café table down by Highbury Park, cigar in hand and a glass of wine in the other, beckoning him over with a wave. _Sweetheart,_ _why don’t you come and sit here for a bit? Keep an old man company?_ Tommy does sometimes, because having a good relationship with the Italians could be useful, even though aunt Pol would definitely disapprove if she knew he was meddling in the business. And Vicente is nice enough for an aging alpha; always offers him a drink in the most polite way, and when Tommy listens to his many stories of ‘the old country’, he occasionally pats his hand gently in a grandfatherly manner that Tommy finds strangely endearing and only mildly annoying for some reason.

“And then I tell Sabini that unless he decides to pay up, he’ll be out of the whole operation?”

“Mhm.”

Alfie is quiet. Then he leans over Tommy’s shoulder and kisses him square on the mouth, resting all his weight on his elbow as he grins at him.

“You’re fucking brilliant. You and your mind. Always working a hundred miles an hour, innit?” 

A jolt of happiness flips at the pit of his stomach. It’s not like this is a particularly brilliant plan or even a hard situation to solve, but still, he’s not used to this kind of approval of his ideas.

“Not very hard to figure out,” he says and allows himself a faint smile. Alfie raises both eyebrows.

“You calling me stupid, love?”

“Maybe a little.”

Snorting with indignation, Alfie settles back onto the mattress and pulls him closer to his chest. He is quiet for a little bit, running a hand up and down his side, fingers featherlight over the fabric of his nightshirt.

“Sabini’s gonna be fuckin pissed,” he says. “Could end in with all sorts of violence if we’re not careful, that.”

“Depends on how you put it. Set up the meeting in London. Be polite about it, and bring a gift. Sabini likes that. Gestures and so on. ”

Alfie hums and says with genuine confusion, “Fuck, why didn’t I think of… any of this?”

“Because your solution is often to just tell people to go fuck themselves in the most obnoxious way possible.”

Alfie sits up and rolls him over onto his back, pinning him down with what is probably supposed to be a stern look but which most of all comes off as very fond. “Oh, you take that back right now.”

Tommy feels a smirk tug at his lips. “It’s true.”

Alfie huffs. Then, he runs a finger thoughtfully down the side of his face, adding: “Well, to be fair I’ve never claimed to be the more intelligent out of the two of us. So your help is very much appreciated. Maybe you can talk me through what to say beforehand?

“Sure,” Tommy promises. “I’ll write you a list of things to say.”

Alfie smiles down at him. “What have I done to deserve you, eh? All my sins must’ve been overlooked, right, for me to end up with an omega who is not only so beautiful that my fucking lifespan increases with ten years every time I look at him, but who is also the most intelligent-

“Stop-” Heat rises to Tommy’s cheeks and he tries to look away but Alfie grabs his chin.

“The most intelligent, _witty,_ not to mention most _beautiful_ omega in England.” His’s smile seems to widen with every shade of red Tommy’s cheeks darkens. “Sometimes I just think to myself, alright, I sit, and I think and ponder over how lucky I am-“ He needs to tell him. Tommy feels it in his gut right then. If he doesn’t tell him now, he’ll never muster up the courage- “And it’s a true blessing, innit, that your aunt decided to drag you along to my bakery.” _Just open your mouth and say it. It’s not that fucking hard._ He tries to phrase it _: there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you._

_No, not like that-_

“Alfie-“

“And I really should thank her more often,” Alfie goes on. “Because what would my life even be without you in it-“

“ _Alfie-“_ No matter how he tries he can’t seem to find the right words, and Alfie just keeps talking.

 _“_ It would be miserable, I tell you, miserable. And I really need to be more appreciative of you-“

 _Just tell him_ -

“I’m pregnant.” The words come out too quickly, not wrapped up all neatly like they were supposed to and the silence that hits the room feels like a fucking punch to the gut. Alfie stares down at him, mouth still half open, caught in the middle of a word.

“What?”

Tommy sits up. Tries to breathe and swallow down the panic.

“I’m pregnant,” he repeats. And suddenly the lump in his throat is back, because Alfie just stares at him. “I-I wanted to tell you earlier but I didn’t know how to and- and then you were busy-“

Alfie grabs him by the shoulders. Hard. “Are you sure? Completely, absolutely fucking sure?”

Tommy only manages to nod, overwhelmed by a sudden and unfamiliar urge to cry. Curl up into a ball and hide because Alfie doesn’t want the baby. Maybe it’s him? Maybe Alfie just doesn’t want a baby with Tommy of all people-

Alfie only stares at him for another excruciatingly long moment. But then his eyes well with tears and he blinks. And he smiles, a wide, toothy grin that just lights up his entire face.

“I’m gonna be a dad?”

Happy. Alfie is happy. Finally the realization sinks in, and the relief is so overwhelming that all strength seems to drain from his limbs.

He nods. And suddenly he finds himself being dragged into a tight hug. Alfie pulls him into his lap and crushes him against his chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His breathing comes in erratic little bursts, and he holds Tommy so tightly that breathing soon will become an issue. Tommy doesn’t mind in the least. He wraps his arms around Alfie’s neck.

“You’re happy?” 

Alfie pulls away a little and cradles his face between his hands. “Course I’m fucking happy! Fuckin’ell I couldn’t be happier, silly boy.”

“Don’t cry,” Tommy mumbles and wipes at the tears trickling down his cheeks. He lets out a shaky laugh: “You’re gonna make me cry too.”

But it’s a lost cause because he’s already fucking crying. It’s the hormones. He blames this whole thing on those.

“No I’m going to fucking cry, alright, it’s my God given right to cry when I find out that the man I love is carrying my child,” Alfie exclaims and beams at him. He moves back a little, creating space between them so that he can place a hand on Tommy’s belly. “Right here, love. Isn’t that just fucking amazing?”

Tommy leans forward and kisses his nose.

Alfie just keeps smiling down at his belly with this dreamy, almost goofy smile and Tommy savors the moment. Then he suddenly looks up at Tommy with wide eyes. “You haven’t eaten anything!”

Tommy is tempted to ask how he knows that, but Alfie has probably put two and two together so there’s no use denying it.

“Now, you just stay right there, don’t move a fucking inch.” Alfie is already gathering up all the pillows, settling Tommy with his back against them. “I’ll be right up with something to eat. And maybe some… blankets? Yeah we definitely need more of those. Blankets and-”

Still listing things to himself under his breath, Alfie disappears out the door. 

Tommy is tempted to call after him that he’s barely two months along, and if Alfie’s going to be like this for the rest of the pregnancy it’s going to become unbearable. But he doesn’t. Instead he just sits there and waits. And occupies himself with arranging and then rearranging the pillows. Tries different options before settling for having them behind his back and by his sides in a comfortable little half circle that somehow just feels… right.

Alfie soon returns with two bowls of the soup he cooked earlier precariously balanced on a tray and with several blankets under his arms. When Tommy moves to take the tray before an accident occurs Alfie protests so loudly that he’s got no choice but to stay put for fear of actually causing the soup to end up spilled all over the bed. Once the tray has been safely set down on the nightstand, Alfie takes the blankets and spreads them out over him, and Tommy lets him fuss with them until they’re all in acceptable positions, because Alfie looks so incredibly pleased once he’s tucked him in. 

“Remember that you’re eating for two,” he says when he hands him the bowl.

“Can’t wait to hear that for the next seven months,” Tommy mutters but begins to eat, still, as Alfie settles next to him on the bed.

“Oh you’ll hear a whole lot more than that, love. Like… don’t lift that heavy box. Maybe you should sit down for a while? Do you want me to rub your ankles?“ Alfie grins. “I can’t wait to dote on you.”

Tommy huffs.

“You already do.”

“But it’ll be on a whole other level now,” Alfie says. Runs his thumb down Tommy’s cheek. “Gonna treat you and this baby like royalty. Anything you want, you’ll have.”

“I already have everything I want.” The words come to mind easily. And it’s not until he sees the look on Alfie’s face that he realises he said them out loud. But he doesn’t mind so much. It’s true. Especially when Alfie leans in and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm super behind on answering to comments which I feel very guilty about, but just know that I read them _all_ (the ones on older stories too) and cherish them dearly, so please do leave one if you'd like <3 
> 
> And do feel free to share ideas or wishes for future parts of this AU! I've got ideas already, but I always love hearing more


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